


A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy

by rocketray



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketray/pseuds/rocketray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is dangerous.<br/>Love will fuck you up if you let it.<br/>It’s a weapon of mass destruction, turning the minds of our youth to mush.<br/>Love, I truly believed, was not an option.<br/>Not the way I assumed it worked.<br/>But in the end, it did fuck me up, because it changed everything about who I thought I was.<br/>Brendon Urie, you changed everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy

Love is dangerous.

Love will fuck you up if you let it.

It’s a weapon of mass destruction, turning the minds of our youth to mush.

Love, I truly believed, was not an option.

Not the way I assumed it worked.

But in the end, it did fuck me up, because it changed everything about who I thought I was.

Brendon Urie, you changed everything.

My name is Ryan. I sincerely hate the world. Except of course, for Spencer Smith, my best and only friend, who mostly puts up with me. Mostly.

 _Fuck’s sake, Ryan._ He can’t stand when I get anxious, but he does his best to help me out with it. I may be cynical, but for good reason. The world sucks, except through rose coloured lenses. Basically, Spencer and I escape a lot.

He drags me out of the bar, gasping like a fish out of water, by my wrist. I didn’t even have a drink. The neon lights blink over head and I can’t help but be reminded of bright orange traffic cones, designating to avoid a terrible pile up that’s happened on a freeway.

I guess that’s sort of what I am.

Passerby avoid Spencer and I crouching by the wall of the club, me a wreck, him worried as always. The cacophony from in the club is still audible and I scream at it to shut up.

“Ry, focus.” _Focus. On what? Everything’s a blur, there’s no focus._

“Ryan.” _Fucking shit, Ryan, get your shit together, you’re a mess, Ryan Ross, stop trying to impress people._

“Is… he okay?” _Person?_

I look up, hands shaking and clenched in Spencer’s. There was no one up. I look around for the source of the not-Spencer-person and see a guy kneeling next to Spencer. _Aww, he looks concerned. Cute_.

Not-Spencer meets my eyes, searching for an answer. _How funny, he thinks he’ll actually find something. I’m an impenetrable for–_

“Shit, anxiety?” _What the actual fuck?_

Even Spencer seems perplexed, but he nods, which is more than I could do.

“Can I…?”

Spencer moves aside and lets go of my hands, letting Not-Spencer move in front of me.

“Hey… Uh, what’s your name?”

“Ryan.” Spencer told him.

“Thanks.” Not-Spencer said, nodding to Spencer. He returns his attention to me. “Hey, Ryan...” He says softly. Well, not softly, because of the noise in the background, but in a way that makes me feel like I’m not being crushed in a seven car pile up, more like a five or six car pile up.

I look up at him, more deer in headlights than human, and he continues.

“Can you put your hand on your stomach for me?”

I whimper, not protesting, just feeling fucking paralyzed.

Not-Spencer nods, somehow understanding. “Can I… can I touch you?”

I make another small noise and nodded slightly.

He takes my hand and moves it slowly to my stomach. “Now I want you to breathe. In, out. Can you do that?”

I look at him quizzically, but do as I was told.

"Focus on your breathing. Your hand is moving with your stomach. You're breathing, Ry, that's all you need to think about right now." _Ry? Ry_.

I breathe, my hand still shaking, but over my stomach. A good ten minutes pass, Not-Spencer’s hand on mine on my stomach, him watching my face intently.

Moments later, I’m sitting there with my fist clenched in my t-shirt, his hand away from mine. I’m... embarrassed, admittedly. _Why would this complete stranger even give a fuck about some loser having a damn anxiety attack outside some shitty club?_

I sigh, “Um… thank you.” I say, quiet enough to be hardly audible over the din of the club.

He nods, “No problem, I know what it’s like.” Not-Spencer smiles sheepishly, and it crosses my mind to ask his name, so I do so. He tells me it’s Brendon. Brendon– I like it. Brendon seems fairly alright as a person as well.

“So, Not– Brendon. Uh, thank you. Shit, I already said that didn’t I? Uh.” I laugh awkwardly. “Can, um. Are you going in?” My face is flushed from being packed in that club like a fucking sardine in a can.

Brendon shakes his head. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh.” _Who_ doesn’t _drink_?

“I’d be happy to get coffee sometime. I was just on my way home…”

“Yeah, I–” I look over to find that Spencer has found better places to be, namely, chatting up a stranger. “I… would like that. I don’t want to ruin your evening or anything, though. If you’re going home you were probably somewhere else first, and you’re probably tired, because it’s late.”

“It’s only 11.” _I like him. Can I keep him?_


End file.
